Cal’s conjecture proved to be right. A little spring at the foot of the bluff had been dug out and framed around with sticks to keep the margin from crumbling.
Obviously this was the hermit’s source of water supply.
“But why in the name of common sense,” said Larry, “didn’t he set up his Lares and Penates somewhere near the spring?”
“I can think of two reasons,” Cal answered, “either of which is sufficient to answer your question.”
“Go ahead—what are they?”
“One is, that he may be a crank, and another is, that he may be a prudent, sensible person, preferring comfort with inconvenience, to convenience with discomfort.”
“Now, then, Sphinx, unravel your riddle.”
“Its meaning ought to be obvious,” Cal drawled, “but as it isn’t, I’ll explain it. The man is probably a crank. If not, he wouldn’t have set up a signal of distress and then have gone away and hidden himself so that if rescuers came they couldn’t find him. To a crank like that any foolishness is easily possible. On the other hand, if he happens to be a man of practical common sense—as there is equally good reason to believe—he would very naturally pitch his camp up where it is, rather than here where you fellows are already fighting the sand flies that will be heavily reinforced toward nightfall.”
“That’s so!” said the others.
“Of course it’s so. Anybody would know that, after slapping his cheeks till they feel as if they had been cured with mustard plasters, and weren’t half well yet.”